


Kiss Me Through The Phone

by theglitterati



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, Phone Sex, Phoneswap AU, Pining, Sexting, Slow Burn, so much pining, which of course means
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-28 00:33:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5071048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterati/pseuds/theglitterati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Grantaire have many friends in common, but have never met. They get their phones mixed up after Bahorel makes everyone put their phones in a bowl at his birthday party. Flirting via text message ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me for the title, which is, of course, from the Soulja Boy song. I couldn't help myself. It was just so fitting.
> 
> Note: Enjolras and Grantaire have iPhones, because I don't know shit about Androids.
> 
> Also, I don't really know where this takes place, but I'm thinking Chicago for some reason? A city I have never been to and thus cannot describe accurately at all, but why the fuck not.

“Put your phone in the fucking bowl Enjolras, or else,” Bahorel warns. “It’s my party and I’ll punch you if I want to.”

“But what if—” Enjolras starts protesting, for the third time.

“Oh my god, you’re being _such_ a baby,” Courfeyrac interrupts, ripping the phone from Enjolras's hand and adding it to the punchbowl that’s already overflowing with cell phones. “No one important is going to email you after nine p.m. on a Saturday. Besides, it’s Bahorel’s birthday” – he reaches up to throw an arm around Bahorel’s shoulders – “so you have to do whatever he says. It would be rude not to.” Bahorel grins at that.

“What’s rude is imposing a ‘no cell phones’ rule on a party,” Enjolras mutters under his breath, as he wanders away from them to join Combeferre and Feuilly in a corner of the living room. Or rather, as he pushes his way through the immovable mass of Bahorel’s friends in attempt to find his own. _How can one person keep up with this many other people?_ Enjolras thinks.

“You look like you’re having the time of your life,” Combeferre says dryly when he reaches them.

“Yeah, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than in a hot, loud apartment full of drunk, sweaty people.”

“You could be drunk too, you know,” Feuilly says, extending his beer bottle to Enjolras, an eyebrow raised.

“No thanks,” Enjolras says, more kindly. It’s hard to be bitchy to Feuilly. “I have homework to do tomorrow morning, since I can’t do it tonight.”

“Surely you can take one night off,” Combeferre says. _Even Combeferre’s against him now?_

“And surely you could stop moping and ruining Bahorel’s birthday,” Courfeyrac adds, just having sauntered into the conversation. His cheeks are bright red, either from the heat or the drink. “Seriously. That was mean. You didn’t even say ‘happy birthday.’ Or talk to any of Bahorel’s friends.”

“I talked to you three,” Enjolras says, “and Joly, Musichetta, and Bossuet, wherever they went. _And_ Jehan and Eponine. I’ll even talk to Marius when he gets here.”

“Marius is here, actually, but he and Cosette disappeared into a closet about five minutes after they arrived.”

“And _I’m_ the one being rude?!”

“Marius is having _fun_ ,” Courf says loudly. “You’re being a party pooper!”

“You’re drunk,” Enjolras says bitingly.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Courfeyrac replies, just as tartly.

Enjolras looks to Combeferre and Feuilly for help, but gets none. He’s on his own.

“Fine,” Enjolras says, defeated. “Someone get me a drink; I’m caving to peer pressure. And if I don’t finish my essay tomorrow, you three are going to write it for me.”

“Yay!” yells Courfeyrac. “Here, take mine,” he says, thrusting whatever fruity drink he’s been drinking into Enjolras’s hands, “and I’ll go get a new one. Drunk Enjolras is so fun!”

“I’m not getting drunk,” Enjoras answers, but Courfeyrac has already run off, leaving the three of them alone again. Enjolras takes a sip of the drink; it actually tastes pretty good. He takes another.

He does end up getting drunk, in the end, thanks to Courfeyrac never letting him finish a drink before getting him a new one. He still doesn’t enjoy the party much, though he does allow Bahorel to drag him around and introduce him to all of his friends, even the ones he already knows. The general consensus seems to be that Drunk Enjolras is indeed more fun than Regular Enjolras.

He stays until just before one a.m., when Combeferre decides to go home. He’s thankful they’re leaving then, because he’s starting to remember why he doesn’t drink very often; his head feels terrible. Before he goes, he makes sure to say a very loud, very emotional ‘happy birthday’ to Bahorel so that he’ll forgive him for being a jerk.

Enjolras and Combeferre get their cell phones from the bowl before leaving, Enjolras having to dig right to the bottom for his, and by then he’s so dizzy and tired that he doesn’t even bother looking through his emails.

When they get home, Enjolras chugs three glasses of water and eats a handful of pretzels before getting into bed. The water feels awful sloshing around in his stomach, and the pretzels leave much to be desired gastronomically-speaking, but he knows it’ll make him feel better in the morning.

He goes to set his alarm on his phone, and notices that it’s already set to go off at noon. _That’s weird_ , he thinks. _When have I ever slept in until noon?_ He resets the alarm for nine a.m. and then gets distracted trying to figure out if he actually has ever slept in until noon. Eventually, he falls asleep.

Had he been a little less drunk, he might have noticed that the background wallpaper on the phone was completely different from his own, or that the generic black case had a slightly different texture. But he doesn’t notice, at least not yet.

***

When the alarm goes off at nine, Enjolras wakes with a pounding headache to discover that it’s not his usual alarm tone that’s sounding. Instead of his default, it’s that annoying preset tone that sounds like a country song. He slides the phone screen open, crunching his eyes together to wake himself up.

He shuts the alarm app down and stares at the phone, looking at some painting in the background that he doesn’t recognize covered in about a million apps that are totally disorganized. And that’s when he realizes: he took the wrong phone.

“Ughhhhhh,” he moans, both about the phone and the way his head feels. How is he going to get his phone back? And whose phone does he have?

The logical thing to do – and thus, of course, Enjolras’s first thought – would be to call Bahorel from this person’s phone. Surely they have his number, since they were at the party, and if they don’t, Combeferre will.

He’s about to open the Contacts menu when he realizes how early it is. There’s no way Bahorel will be awake yet. Since it was his birthday, Enjolras decides he can deal without his phone for a few hours. He does still have his computer, at least.

It’s difficult, though, for someone as attached to their phone as Enjolras is. He’s not much of a texter or anything – indeed, his lack of knowledge of text abbreviations is often the butt of Courfeyrac’s jokes – but all of his news and studying apps are on there. He can get by without it, but it’s annoying. He showers and forces some toast down, and then sits down to write his paper with his head still feeling like a bowling ball.

By one p.m., he’s already halfway done the work, and he thinks it’s finally an appropriate time to call Bahorel.

Appropriate or not, Enjolras still wakes Bahorel up with the call.

“Hey, man,” Bahorel says when he answers. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Enjolras answers, before realizing that Bahorel doesn’t know it’s him. “Oh, hi… uh, this is Enjolras.”

“What?!” Bahorel practically yells on the other line. “You two are together?!”

“I’m not with anyone,” Enjolras says. “I took someone else’s phone from the bowl last night by accident.”

“Oh,” Bahorel says, laughing now. “That makes way more sense than what I was thinking.”

“What were you thinking?!”

“Nothing, dude, nothing,” Bahorel says, laughing even harder. “Forget it.”

“So you know whose phone this is, then?”

“Yeah,” Bahorel says. “It’s my friend Grantaire’s. From the gym. Have you met him before? He hangs out with me and Joly and Boss and Chetta sometimes.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Like… curly black hair, blue eyes? Shorter than me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh well, I’m sure you’ll meet him sometime,” Bahorel says. “I’ll call him if you want and let him know you have his phone.”

“Think about what you just said, Bahorel,” Enjolras says.

“What?” There’s a pause, and then Bahorel sighs. “Yeah, I guess that’s not really possible, is it?”

“I guess not. Well, I’ll track him down on Facebook or something.”

“He doesn’t have it,” Bahorel says, yawning. “I don’t think he knows how the Internet works.”

 _He sure knows how stupid freemium games work, though_ , Enjolras thinks, remembering the mess of apps on Grantaire’s phone. Bahorel yawns again.

“Don’t worry about it, Bahorel,” Enjolras says, feeling a little guilty about waking Bahorel up, even if it’s already the afternoon. “I’ll find him somehow. Go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” Bahorel says.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, E.” _Click._

Frustrated, Enjolras taps on his desk for a while, unsure of what to do next. Then he has a brilliant idea.

He texts his own number: _Hi, this is Enjolras. If you have my phone, can you text me back at this number please?_

This way, whoever took his phone can get in touch with him. Or, alternatively, if the phone is still in Bahorel’s bowl, he can read the text when he wakes up. He’s impressed with himself for thinking of this plan, even in his hungover state, and he goes back to writing his essay.

About an hour later, his phone – or this Grantaire person’s phone, rather – goes off, and Enjolras sees his own number on the lock screen.

_Hi, this is Grantaire, and I have your phone. And judging by the number you texted me from, you have mine._

Well, that’s easy, Enjolras thinks. They can just meet up and swap, simple as that. He replies quickly.

E: _Do you want to meet up sometime today and switch back?_

R: _I’m really sorry, but I can’t today. Would it be okay if I gave your phone to Bahorel tomorrow when I see him at school?_

Enjolras is a little miffed that this guy has refused to switch back without even giving him a reason, but there’s not really much he can do about that. He can live one more day without his phone before tracking down Bahorel on campus tomorrow.

E: _Sure, that’s fine. I’ll find him tomorrow and give him yours to give back as well._

R: _Okay, thank you._

And that’s it until the evening. Enjolras finishes his paper by five, and then gets back into bed with a textbook and some chicken nuggets Combeferre very kindly made for the both of them.

At seven, the phone buzzes, and Enjolras is surprised to see Joly’s name as the sender. Grantaire hasn’t changed the settings on his phone to just display “Text Message” when he gets a text, so Enjolras can read the entire message from the lock screen.

J: _Are you okay today? You left rly fast last night._

That’s the second time someone has asked if Grantaire’s okay; first Bahorel, and now Joly. He wonders what’s wrong with the guy, then feels guilty for betraying this stranger’s privacy.

The phone buzzes again twenty minutes later, but this time it’s Enjolras’s number that pops up instead of a name.

R: _You’re friends with Joly and Bossuet, too, right? I think I’ve heard them talk about you before. From that club thing._

Enjolras feels strange texting on this other guy’s phone, but this was clearly meant for him.

E: _Yeah they’re my friends, too, from Les Amis. I’ve never heard about you before, which is strange since you seem to know lots of my friends._

 _Oh crap_ , Enjolras thinks as soon as he hits Send. _That sounded so rude._

E: _Though that’s probably my fault. I don’t have a good memory for names._

Enjolras can remember the name of every teacher and professor he’s ever had in his life. It’s an absolute lie, but a necessary one.

Grantaire doesn’t answer right away, and Enjolras feels like his lie might be transparent, and might have hurt Grantaire’s feelings. So he sends another text.

E: _Did you have fun at the party last night?_

A few minutes later, the phone buzzes again.

R: _I left really early. You probably didn't even see me._

Enjolras’s homework was getting boring anyway, and for some reason he wants to know more about this mysterious Grantaire. He’s friends with half of Enjolras’s friends, they go to the same party and manage not to meet; it’s like something out of an old mystery novel. He pushes the book aside and settles in more comfortably.

E: _I wish I had left early. I feel like crap today._

R: _Too much to drink?_

E: _Way too much. I normally don’t drink at all._

There’s a pause, and then:

R: _Joly’s profile picture on Facebook is with a guy from Les Amis. Is that you?_

Enjolras has to check, pulling his laptop over from the nightstand. The person in the picture has Joly on his shoulders, and is shouting something at whoever is taking the picture.

E: _That’s my friend Courfeyrac._

E: _And Bahorel said you didn’t have Facebook? I asked when I was trying to find you to give you your phone back._

R: _Doesn’t mean I don’t lurk it sometimes._

E: _That’s fair._

Before he can think about why he’s doing it, Enjolras says:

E: _If you want to know what I look like, you can look through the pictures on my phone. There’s pictures of Les Amis doing a protest a few weeks ago. I’m the one with blond hair._

Enjolras isn’t much of a photographer, so even though he’s had that phone for about a year, there’s only maybe 50 pictures on it. They’re mostly photos taken by other people of Les Amis at events, with some of buildings or statues that Enjolras thought were nice mixed in.

E: _That is, if you haven’t already gone through all of my stuff._

R: _You don’t think very highly of me, do you? I promise I haven’t._

Then nothing for five minutes until:

R: _You look nice in your glasses._

 _What?_ Enjolras thinks, before he realizes what Grantaire found. _Oh my god_. _How embarrassing._

He had gotten new glasses, square ones with thick, black frames, a few months ago, and Courfeyrac had been out of town but had demanded to see them. So Enjolras had taken his only selfie ever and sent it, receiving a string of emojis back from Courfeyrac that seemed to signal a positive reaction. Enjolras had meant to delete the pictures right away, but he had kept them, because… well, because he thought that he looked nice in his glasses. Nobody ever got to see him wear them, since he usually wore contacts, and he liked having the picture on his phone.

Now, however, he really _does not_ like having the picture on his phone. He sends a quick text back to Grantaire.

E: _Can I go through your pictures now to see what you look like?_

E: _Also thank you, that’s nice of you to say._

R: _Please don’t go through my pictures. I know that’s hardly fair, but you have way fewer stupid pictures on your phone than I do._

R: _If you want to know what I look like, I’m in Bahorel’s profile picture on Facebook._

Enjolras tries to ignore how excited he feels when he grabs his laptop again. He clicks from Joly’s page to Bahorel’s, and immediately feels annoyed.

Bahorel’s profile picture is a group shot from a bar with at least ten people in it. Enjolras assumes they’re his friends from the gym, since he doesn’t know anyone in the photo but Bahorel. He remembers what Bahorel said about Grantaire: curly black hair, blue eyes, shorter than Bahorel. But it’s impossible to discern eye colour, and there’s like four different guys with black curly hair. And everyone is shorter than Bahorel, who is 6’3”.

One of them stands out, though, as clearly the best looking of the bunch, at least to Enjolras’s tastes. He’s wirier than the rest of them, not bulky in that body-builder way that Bahorel and his friends are. And he has a really nice smile. The rest of the guys are grinning away, but this one is just slightly smiling, in a way that Enjolras might describe as _cute_ if he didn’t think that was so embarrassing.

But he’s getting ahead of himself. He doesn’t know which of these guys is Grantaire.

E: _There’s like a hundred people in that picture. Who are you?_

R: _In the green sweater._

Enjolras looks back at his laptop, and sure enough, the guy he was looking at is the only one wearing green.

E: _:)_

 _Wait,_ Enjolras thinks. _That came out wrong._

E: _I was trying to guess which one was you based on the vague description Bahorel gave, and I was right. Hence the :)_

 _Real fucking smooth_ , Enjolras thinks after. _Time to quit before I make a complete ass of myself._

E: _Well, now that I can put a face to the name, I should probably get back to my homework. It was nice to meet you. Sort of._

E: _I mean, it was nice to sort of meet you. Not that it was only sort of nice to meet you, just that I didn't really meet you._

_Shut up, Enjolras._

R: _Okay. Nice to meet you too. Sort of._

Unsure what to think of that reply, Enjolras puts down the phone, and gets back to his work.


	2. Chapter 2

“Thank you _so_ much,” Enjolras says when Bahorel hands him back his phone.

He quickly checks what he’s missed. There’s four texts from Courfeyrac and one from his father, all of them unopened. He silently thanks Grantaire for respecting his privacy.

“You look like I just handed you your first-born child,” Bahorel says, snorting. “You are way too obsessed with that thing.”

“ _You’re_ way too obsessed with how obsessed with my phone _I_ am,” Enjolras retorts, well aware that it’s not his best comeback.

“Whatever, dude,” Bahorel says. “Do you have Grantaire’s phone?”

“Oh, yeah,” Enjolras says, pulling it out of his pocket. He rubs his thumb against the case for a second before handing it over. “When are you going to give it back to him? I want to text him once he has it back and thank him for not, like, stealing my credit card information or something.”

“He went to class right after he gave me yours an hour ago,” Bahorel says. “And I have to maybe consider thinking about going to class at two. So I probably won’t see him until tomorrow unless he comes to the gym tonight.”

“Okay,” Enjolras says, biting his tongue. He really wants to ask what subject Grantaire studies, but he’s got a better idea forming than asking Bahorel right now. He bids Bahorel goodbye and heads home.

He checks the text messages he missed:

Courfeyrac: _Good morning to my favourite drunk person in the entire world_

Courfeyrac: _Hello do you not love me anymore why aren’t you answering did you die????_

Courfeyrac: _Okay Ferre says you lost your phone so sorry for assuming you didn’t love me and that you might have died_

Courfeyrac: _Also hello to anyone who might have Enjolras’s phone, I hope you’re enjoying reading these_

Enjolras laughs. Too bad Grantaire didn't open them. He texts Courf back to let him know he’s got his phone.

Father: _Are you planning on coming home for spring break?_

 _That’s not getting an answer,_ Enjolras thinks.

He was going to wait until the next day to text Grantaire, when he would be sure that he had his phone back, but Enjolras is pleasantly surprised when he gets a text that evening from a familiar number. He notices that Grantaire has put himself in Enjolras’s contact list as “R.” Enjolras wishes that he had thought to do that.

R: _Hey! Bahorel just gave me my phone back. Thanks for keeping it safe for me._

Enjolras answers right away.

E: _No problem! Thank you for mine too. How come you put yourself in my phone as R? Shouldn’t you be G?_

A moment later:

E: _Never mind, I get the pun._

And then despite Enjolras pretending to do homework while really just waiting for his phone to vibrate again, there’s no reply for another hour. It’s enough time for Enjolras to start thinking that Grantaire doesn’t want to talk to him anymore, and then wondering why not, and then… _whoa, don’t go down that road._

Finally, Grantaire answers.

R: _Sorry, I texted you right when I was going into the gym, and I just got home. Ha. I’m glad you get the pun. You must be smart, most people don’t get it until I explain it, and then it’s no fun anymore._

Enjolras doesn’t have time before replying to wonder why he’s so relieved to get a text back. He writes:

E: _And my friends think I don’t understand humour._

E: _Can I ask you what your major is? Is that too nosy?_

R: _Not nosy at all, but I’m going to make you guess._

Grantaire might just be playing around, but Enjolras already has a working theory ready to go.

E: _Art history?_

R: _Wow, that’s really close. Why did you guess that?_

E: _You had a painting as the background on your phone._

R: _Oh right. You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes. But it’s just art, not art history._

E: _I thought I was supposed to be guessing!_

R: _Sorry._

E: _Really, though, art? That must be really hard. Do you like draw or paint? Or sculpt?_

R: _Paint._

E: _Did you paint the picture that was your background?_

R: _LOL no. That’s a Van Gogh._

E: _Oh lol. I don’t know anything about art._

(Enjolras thinks this might be the first time he’s ever used a “lol.” It feels weird.)

E: _Can I see something you painted?_

R: _Um, sure. Hang on._

A minute later, Enjolras receives two pictures by text. The first is a landscape, rolling hills under a cloudy sky, and the second is a still life of a Fruit Loops box, of all things.

Enjolras sees no difference between these paintings and the ones you might see in a museum. It’s obvious even to someone who knows nothing about art that Grantaire is excellent at what he does.

E: _Those are really nice. You’re really good._ It sounds a little trite without Enjolras being able to put any emotion into the words, so he adds a _:)_ for good measure.

R: _Thank you :) Those are really just assignments I did for class, though, they’re not my personal style. But I think if you don’t know much about art you’ll think my stuff is weird._

E: _Send me something. I promise I won’t think it’s weird._

After what feels like ten minutes but is probably about thirty seconds, Enjolras gets another picture message.

The painting is kind of weird, but only because Enjolras isn’t used to abstract work. He can’t identify any objects in it like you can in a regular painting. It’s really just a swirling mass of colours, but, at the same time, it’s not random. The colours form shapes, patterns… Enjolras has never seen anything like it.

E: _It’s beautiful_.

R: _You really think that?_

E: _I never say anything I don’t mean._

R: _Well… :) Thank you._

R: _Can I guess your major now?_

E: _Go for it._

R: _Law with a minor in history?_

E: _You asked Bahorel today then?_

R: _Maybe._

E: _Cheater. I was going to ask, too, but I waited so I could ask you personally._

R: _Well, I’m sorry. I was curious about you._

Enjolras definitely, absolutely, for sure does not blush when he reads that. Without thinking, he text-blurts:

E: _You should come to a Les Amis meeting sometime with Bahorel._

The pause before Grantaire’s answer isn’t exactly reassuring.

R: _I don’t think it’s really my thing._

Enjolras would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed.

E: _It’s okay, you don’t have to._

R: _Sorry._

E: _Don’t be._

Enjolras wishes he could go back to the moment in the conversation before he said that, but there’s really no saving it now. Grantaire doesn’t say anything back, and Enjolras can’t bring himself to send another text.

***

Enjolras is in a shitty mood for the entire next day of classes, getting into an argument with his French History prof and then refusing to say anything for all of his Law Ethics class. He always keeps his phone muted in class, usually only checking it during breaks, but today he can’t stop waking it up to see if he has any new messages. He gets a couple from Courfeyrac and Bossuet, but nothing from Grantaire.

By that evening, he’s accepted that they probably won’t talk again unless they see each other in person. It’s really bugging him that Grantaire never said anything back, but he chooses to ignore it and not think about why.

Until his phone buzzes and he sees Grantaire’s number show up, that is.

R: _So I was looking at the Facebook page for Les Amis, and I was right, it’s not really my thing._

 _Then why are you texting to tell me this again?!_ Enjolras thinks, irritated.

R: _But I wanted to say that I watched a couple of the videos and I think you’re a really good public speaker._

_Oh. That’s why._

E: _Thanks. But obviously I’m not that good if I didn’t convince you._

R: _I’m a hard sell, believe me. You’re very convincing._

R: _Except that you quoted the Declaration of Independence wrong._

E: _What? No I didn’t._

R: _Yes, you did. You said “we take these truths to be self-evident.” It’s hold, not take. I would know, my roommate is constantly listening to that stupid musical._

 _Fuck,_ Enjolras thinks. _He’s right._

E: _Yeah, you’re right. Oh well. I was arguing against the Declaration, anyway._

R: _How can you argue against something that you haven’t even bothered to read properly? You need to know what you’re actually fighting. And who are you to challenge the Declaration of Independence?_

 _What the hell?_ thinks Enjolras. _What is his problem?_

He’s certainly not going to waste time he could be spending working, or, you know, talking to people who aren’t complete dicks, arguing about a speech that he made a month ago. He tosses the phone away a little too hard, and it hits the wall, causing Combeferre to yell “Are you okay?” from the other side.

“Fine!” he shouts back. He pulls a textbook from his homework pile at random and starts reading, not paying any attention to the words.

Twenty minutes later, his phone buzzes again, and he thinks _I swear to god, if this is Grantaire—_

R: _Sorry if I made you mad before. I wasn’t trying to insult you. I was just saying what I thought your opponents would say. I thought it might be helpful. Evidently it wasn’t._

Enjolras exhales loudly, and then starts typing.

E: _You could have said that instead of just blasting me for what seemed like no reason._

E: _It actually is kind of helpful, though. If I had known._

R: _Well, next time I’ll warn you that I’m going to blow your arguments to smithereens before I do it._

Enjolras just rolls his eyes, choosing not to respond to that.

E: _If you know so much about this, then how come you don’t think Les Amis would be your thing?_

R: _Just because I know about it doesn’t mean I believe in it._

E: _What, you think our cause is wrong or stupid or something?_

R: _I think all causes are stupid in general, not just yours._

Could Enjolras have picked a more antagonistic person to develop a weird, text-message crush on?

E: _Why???_

R: _Because change is impossible, or at least really difficult. And most of the time it just brings up more problems than you had before._

E: _I’m going to change your mind on that._

Of course, Enjolras is just generally determined to change everyone’s mind about his causes. But changing Grantaire’s opinion matters more than that to him.

R: _We’ll see, Enjolras._

Enjolras throws the phone again, though a little softer this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The painting Grantaire has as his phone background is "Cafe Terrace At Night."
> 
> The musical, as I'm sure most of you already guessed, is _Hamilton_ , and for the record, I don't think it's stupid, I think it's amazing.


	3. Chapter 3

With things made far less tense between them, they keep talking for the rest of the week. Enjolras learns that Grantaire goes to the gym for boxing classes, which is literally the last type of class Enjolras would ever want to take, and that he does art commissions online to make some money. Grantaire learns that Enjolras is a member of five different clubs on campus and reads old French philosophy for _fun_ , which Grantaire makes fun of him for to no end.

By Friday, Enjolras finally works up the courage to ask Grantaire to hang out. Alone.

E: _I know you said that Les Amis isn’t for you, but would you ever want to hang out with just me sometime?_

He purposely texts when he knows Grantaire is in class so that he won’t be tempted to sit by the phone and wait for a reply, but then proceeds to do exactly that anyway.

Grantaire doesn’t answer for two hours, and when he does, it’s not the answer Enjolras wanted.

R: _I would really, really like to, but I can’t. And I can’t give you a reason why, either. I know that sounds horrible._

R: _I promise it’s me and not you, though. I really like talking to you and I don’t want to stop._

E: _“It’s not you, it’s me?” Really?_

R: _Enjolras, I’m really sorry. I wish I could explain._

E: _Why can’t you?_

R: _Because it’s something about me that I don’t want to tell you yet._

If it wasn’t for the “yet,” Enjolras might have never texted him back.

E: _So are you saying it’s too soon, or that you don’t ever want to hang out with me?_

R: _That it’s too soon. Though I can’t say when I’ll be able to. But I do really want to meet you._

R: _It’s that okay? If we wait?_

Enjolras presses his fingers to the bridge of nose. _For how long?_ he thinks.

He remembers how he felt when Grantaire complimented his glasses that first time, then sends back:

E: _Yes, it’s okay. Sorry if I was prying. You don’t have to tell me why if you don’t want to. As long as we can keep talking._

R: _Believe me, I have no plans to stop talking to you. Thanks for being understanding._

E: _Bahorel knows you in real life, right? I know for sure you aren’t catfishing me?_

He means it as a joke, and he hopes Grantaire will take it that way. He doesn’t have a good track record for that kind of thing.

R: _Haha. Yes. I had your phone, remember, and all of your friends know me? I am a real person who looks exactly like I said I do._

How Enjolras goes from Grantaire rejecting his offer of a date to flirting in two seconds flat he’ll never know, but he sends back:

E: _Good :) Because I like the way you look._

E: _:)_

Enjolras is sure he’s used more emojis in this week than he has in the rest of his life combined. Courfeyrac would be so proud if he knew.

R: _I like the way you look too :)_

R: _Like… a lot._

R: _So you were asking me on a date then? I couldn’t tell._

E: _Yes I was._

 _Does that change your answer?_ E thinks.

R: _Good. I mean, I still have to say no for now, and I feel shitty about that, but… I’m glad. I’m really, really glad. And eventually my answer will be yes._

E: _Well… eventually hurray then._

***

The next day, Joly comes over to work on a project with Combeferre, and it’s all Enjolras can do not to sit Joly down and make him spill everything he knows about Grantaire. But he’s quickly realizing that Grantaire is a very private person, and Enjolras wouldn’t feel right going behind his back like that. If Grantaire wants to, that’s fine, because Enjolras doesn’t have any big secrets, but he won’t return the gesture.

Enjolras sits against the wall on the living room floor reading while Combeferre and Joly work on the couch. They’re talking constantly, but Enjolras has gotten used to reading in even the loudest of situations. And after spending the week holed up in his room talking to Grantaire, he’s feeling a little lonely without being around real, tangible people. So he stays.

“Enjolras, can you take a picture of us?!” Joly asks brightly.

“Why?” Enjolras answers, confused. Combeferre, too, looks lost.

“Oh, just because… I don’t have enough pictures with my friends, especially Ferre here, and you should always have lots to save all the good memories.”

“The good memories of you doing this project?”

“Yes, those exact ones.”

“Fine,” Enjolras says. Sometimes Joly can be strange; he’s learned to accept it. “Give me your phone.”

“Just use yours, and send it to me.”

“Why?”

“Mine’s dead.”

“You got a text from Musichetta ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah, it… died since then. Can you just stop arguing and do it?” Combeferre follows the conversation like a game of tennis, eyes flicking back and forth.

“ _Fine,_ ” Enjolras says, less kindly this time. He pulls out his phone and opens the camera app. And that’s when he notices that the last picture taken is not one that was there the last time he used the camera.

Enjolras lowers the phone and glares over the top of it at Joly. “Grantaire put you up to this, then?”

Joly breaks out into a grin. “Yes! Sorry I was so bad at hinting. He really didn’t pick the right person to do it.” Joly doesn’t seem the least bit ashamed of that, though.

“Grantaire?” Combeferre asks.

“Bahorel’s friend that we talked to at the party, remember? We were talking about avocados? And then he and Enjolras accidentally switched phones?”

“Oh yeah,” Combeferre says, clearing having forgotten all about him. “It was right after Courf dragged Enjolras away to get drunk. But what does that have to do with—”

“You talked to him!?” Enjolras shouts, unable to stop himself.

“Yeah… so?” Combeferre has never looked this confused in all of the time that Enjolras has known him.

“He and Enjolras are dating over the phone,” Joly says knowledgably.

“Really?” Combeferre says, eyebrows shooting up into his hair.

“No!” Enjolras yells, shooting a death glare at Joly. “Wait, did he say that we were?”

“No,” Joly says, laughing. “I did, to see what you’d say. Honestly, you’re reaction wasn’t ideal. He really likes you, you know.”

E buries his face in his hands, groaning. “Yeah, well… me, too,” he mumbles. Then he shoots his head back up to give Combeferre and Joly very serious looks while warning, “Nobody tells Courfeyrac.”

“Well, that’s not fair,” Combeferre says. “Courf makes me tell him everyone’s secrets and you know I’m incapable of lying to him. He’s like a walking polygraph test.”

“Too bad, because I am not dealing with him wheedling the details out of me, it’s too much. And if he finds out that we’ve never even met—”

“Wait, you’ve never met him?” Combeferre asks. “You didn’t talk at the party?”

“No,” Enjolras says, wanting to run from the room. “I didn’t even see him there. We’ve only texted. And he doesn’t want to meet up with me yet. _And_ he won’t tell me why.”

“I promise it’s a good reason,” Joly blurts out. “I know you weren’t going to ask because you’re all noble and stuff, and I wouldn’t have told you anyway, but I will tell you not to worry. He’s not just messing with you. And it’s nothing bad, either.”

“Wow, I’m not curious at all anymore,” Enjolras says sarcastically. “I’m leaving to go look at my picture now, since you were so desperate to get me to see it.” He stands up and heads to his bedroom.

Joly calls after him. “He didn’t tell me what it was. Is it a—”

“It’s not a dick pic!” Enjolras yells back before slamming the door.

***

Enjolras flops on his bed and opens the Photos app. And there it is, one new picture that he didn’t take.

It’s a selfie that Grantaire took when he had Enjolras’s phone. He’s doing that thing people do in pictures where they look up and away from the camera instead of right at it, thinking it’s cute ( _and it totally is,_ thinks Enjolras). He’s also giving the camera the finger, which makes Enjolras laugh. He texts Grantaire right away.

E: _I found your selfie. You should never ask Joly to do anything for you, though. He was so not subtle. But you look very, very nice._

R: _Finally! You really must never use your phone’s camera. You liked it?_

E: _Yes :)_

R: _Good. So now that you have a picture of me on your phone, can you send me that one of you in your glasses?_

E: _Was this your plan all along???_

R: _Maybe ;)_

Enjolras is so flattered that he can’t even pretend to be annoyed. But he’s going to do this his way.

He gets up from the bed, leaving his phone there, and goes to the washroom to put his glasses on.

“Why did you take your contacts out in the middle of the day?” Combeferre asks as Enjolras passes by on his way back to the bedroom. “You never do that.”

“None of your business,” Enjolras says, and he hears Joly burst into laughter behind him.

Jumping back on the bed, he settles against the pillows. He opens the camera and switches to the front-facing option. Then he copies Grantaire’s looking-away-plus-middle-finger pose and presses the shutter.

He checks, and he thinks the picture has turned out okay. If his cheeks are a little red because this is literally the most embarrassing thing he’s ever done in his life, well, he hopes Grantaire won’t notice. He pastes it into the message and hits send.

R: _Oh my god._

R: _You’re killing me, E._

That’s the reaction Enjolras was hoping for.

E: _:)_

R: _I’m making that the background on my phone. And now I have something to blackmail you with if you ever become president._

E: _You actually think they’d let me be president?_

R: _Such a rebel. I love it._

E: _I’m making yours my background, too, though I’m sure since you’re an artist people would only think you’re cooler for it._

R: _Believe me, nobody thinks I’m cool._

E: _I do!_

R: _That’s because you’re a nerd._

E: _Well, then, you like a nerd, so what does that say about you?_

E: _Also… Joly may have accidentally said “Grantaire really likes you.” Exact words._

R: _Well, Joly’s a little shit who needs to learn to keep a secret, but he isn’t wrong._

R: _What did you have to say to that?_

E: _I said I really liked you too._

E: _I do. Really like you._

E: _Just thought I should actually say it to you instead of relaying what I said to Joly._

R: _I really like you too Enjolras._

E: _:)_

Unfortunately, he remembers then that there’s something else he wants to talk to Grantaire about.

E: _You talked to Combeferre about avocados :(_

R: _What?_

 _Yeah,_ Enjolras thinks, _that probably didn’t make much sense out of context._

E: _At Bahorel’s party. My roommate got to meet you and talk to you about avocados and I didn’t._

R: _Oh. That’s right, I did talk to him. He likes avocados and I hate them._

E: _I don’t like avocados either, but that’s not the point._

R: _You’re jealous?_

E: _Very._

R: _Sorry. If it’s any consolation, you would not have enjoyed talking to me then. I wasn’t in a very good mood. Combeferre is probably too polite to tell you, but I think I snapped at him a bit. About avocados._

E: _Am I allowed to ask why?_

R: _I just… don’t like crowds very much lately._

E: _But you go to class. And to the gym._

R: _I know. It’s just… different._

E: _Okay. Sorry, I won’t ask why._

E: _Tell me why you hate avocados instead._

R: _Okay. Prepare for this to get detailed._


	4. Chapter 4

It’s three weeks later when Enjolras finally sees Grantaire in person for the first time. Unfortunately, Grantaire doesn’t see him. He starts typing on his phone as soon as he gets home, throwing his backpack down on his bed.

E: _Hi_

E: _Please don’t freak out_

E: _But I saw you at school today._

R: _Where?_

E: _At the bagel place._

Grantaire doesn’t say anything back.

E: _I promise I wasn’t stalking you or anything. It was just a coincidence._

E: _Are you mad?_

R: _No, I’m not mad. What am I supposed to be mad at you for? Going the same school as me? Also liking bagels?_

E: _Okay._

E: _I’m glad you aren’t mad yet, then, because I’m about to say some stuff that will probably make you that way._

R: _?_

It takes Enjolras a while to write his message, so Grantaire sends another message a few seconds later:

R: _???_

E: _Seeing you today was like torture. You have no idea how it felt to be standing twenty feet away from you and not being able to talk to you or touch you or even let you see me. I didn’t even get food, I just left because I was afraid you were going to turn around and I didn’t think I could stand it if you ignored me. And I’ve felt like shit all day because of it._

E: _Are you mad now?_

R: _No._

R: _I’m sad though_

R: _Do you think I don’t feel the same? Do you think that I’m not seeing you because I don’t want to?_

E: _No. And I’m really not trying to blame you. Which is why I warned you before I said that that it was going to suck for you to hear. I trust that whatever reason you have for not wanting to see me is a good one. But I feel so bad right now and you’re the only person I wanted to talk to about it, so I had to tell you._

E: _Sorry._

R: _It’s okay. I feel shitty though._

E: _Not half as shitty as I do._

R: _Sorry._

E: _It’s not your fault._

There’s a break while Enjolras gathers his thoughts, trying to calm down before what he wants to say next.

E: _And I do actually have some nice things to say, too, if you want to hear them._

R: _I do._

E: _Okay._

E: _You have a really nice smile. I thought that the first time I saw the picture of you on Facebook, but seeing it in real life was so much better. Even if you were smiling at the bagel guy instead of me. And you look really good in green, it makes your eyes look bluer. Which you probably know since I’ve only ever seen pictures of you wearing green shirts._

R: _Approximately 80% of my clothes are green._

R: _Also :):):)_

E: _How tall are you?_

R: _Like 5’10”. How tall are you?_

E: _6’._

R: _Nice._

E: _I thought you were going to be shorter. I’m glad you’re not._

E: _I mean I would still like you if you were, but you know._

R: _Glad to hear you’re not shallow ;)_

Enjolras laughs a little, feeling much less shaky than he did when he got home.

R: _I really am sorry though. I feel bad that you were upset._

R: _And don’t say it’s not my fault, because it is._

E: _It’s really not._

R: _What did I just say?_

E: _I don’t really care what you said, I’m telling you, it’s not your fault._

R: _Well, think whatever you want, I guess._

There’s a pause again, for a few minutes.

R: _I have an idea_

R: _We could talk on the phone_

R: _I didn’t ask until now because I am literally the worst person in the world to talk to on the phone. But we could, if you wanted._

E: _I’m the worst person ever to talk to on the phone_

R: _Do you have to win everything???_

E: _Seriously. That’s why I haven’t asked either. None of my friends ever call me anymore because they say I sound too weird and mean on the phone._

R: _So you don’t want to then?_

E: _No I do. I’m just warning you._

A moment later, Enjolras’s phone starts ringing.

He gets very nervous very quickly, because he has not prepared for this at all. The call almost goes to voicemail because he’s busy freaking out instead of answering.

“Hi,” he says when he finally picks up, his face halfway between a smile and a grimace.

“Hey, Enjolras,” Grantaire answers shakily.

Enjolras feels a pull in his stomach like he’s just gone over the highest drop of a roller coaster. Nothing at all could have prepared him for how good it feels to hear Grantaire’s voice, and especially to hear Grantaire say his name.

“Hi, Grantaire.”

And then there’s silence, awkward, awkward silence, just like Enjolras knew there would be. For someone who can keep a crowd’s attention for hours during a rally, he’s crap at making small talk.

“Sorry, I told you I was really bad at this,” he says, mortified. “Maybe you should just tell me how your day was or something.”

“Okay,” Grantaire says slowly. “Um… but first, um… it’s really nice to hear your voice.”

Enjolras turns beet red. “It’s nice to hear your voice, too,” he says, smiling. “But you already heard mine in the videos on Facebook.”

“It’s different when you’re talking to me, though.”

“Yeah…” Enjolras trails off dreamily. Enjolras was totally justified in saying he was the absolute worst person at this. At least Grantaire can form proper sentences.

“Um… okay, my day,” Grantaire says. “I went to school and got a bagel, as you know—”

“What kind of bagel?” Enjolras asks. _God, you are such a moron,_ he thinks to himself.

“Everything. With herb and garlic cream cheese. What kind were you going to get?”

“Plain, with plain cream cheese.”

“You would eat that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s a weird thing for an adult to eat.”

“How is it weird? It’s the most normal one.”

“That’s what makes it weird.”

“Well at least it won’t make me smell like garlic for the rest of the day.”

“Okay, when we finally meet, I will make sure not to eat any bagels for a week before. Can I tell my story now?”

“Fine.”

And Grantaire goes on to talk about his classes, how he had an okay time in his portraiture class, and how he hates his curating class because he, to quote him, “doesn’t give a fuck how you're supposed to set up lights around a painting.” He just wants to do the painting and then leave it there.

And somewhere in between the words, the awkwardness falls away, and they both get a little better at talking on the phone. To each other, anyway.

After about an hour, it’s Enjolras’s turn to talk about his day.

“Can you keep a secret?” Enjolras asks. “Because I don’t plan on telling anyone else about this.”

“Of course.”

“Better than Joly can?”

“ _Way_ better than Joly.”

“Okay… I kind of got kicked out of class today.”

“Kind of?”

“Well… not kind of.”

“What for?”

“It was so stupid,” Enjolras says, launching into the story like he’d launch into a protest speech. “It was my French History class. This professor and I have been getting into little arguments all semester. He seriously does not understand the subject that he teaches at all; all he wants to talk about is fucking Napoleon and how great he was and it’s so annoying. And today he was going on about Robespierre and saying that he was like a masochistic killer and I was already in a horrible mood because of seeing you – sorry – so I just freaked out and started arguing with him. Not like ‘I disagree with your theory’ arguing but like ‘I hate you as a person’ arguing. So he told me I wasn’t welcome in his classroom anymore that day and that I had to go.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. And then because Combeferre doesn’t have class on Thursdays I sat around on campus for an hour because I didn’t want him to ask why I came home early.”

“That’s really shitty.”

“I know. And I feel dumb now because I should have just calmed down and tried to argue rationally rather than yelling like a little kid but I was just so _mad_ , you know? Like he just doesn’t get it. And then everyone was staring at me when I got my stuff and left, and it was really embarrassing.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“So what are you going to do next class?”

“I’m going to prepare a list of arguments against what he was saying and present it to him.”

“Enjolras, no.”

“Why not?!”

“Because that makes you seem insane.”

“He refuses to see my point!”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says kindly. “You can’t keep arguing with him or he’s going to kick you out of the class entirely.”

“It would be worth it so that I could take it to the board and—”

“Enjolras.”

“What?!”

“Come on.”

“Ugh,” Enjolras mutters. “What am I supposed to do then?”

“Just go to class and listen and then regurgitate what he says when it’s exam time.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“Why? You’ll still get an A, and you won’t have to put the effort into fighting with him.”

“But he’ll think that he beat me!”

“What? He—” Grantaire breaks off. “Oh. _Oh._ Now I get it.”

“Get what?”

“You.”

“What?!”

“You freak out so much whenever someone challenges your causes because you take it personally. It’s like they’re challenging you, saying you don’t know what you’re talking about. I totally get it now.”

“That’s not—”

“Yeah, it really is.”

“No, it’s not!”

“You’re doing it to me right now!”

“UGH,” Enjolras roars. “You are so annoying! I feel like I’m talking to fucking Dr. Phil!”

“Hey, I’ve still got all my hair,” Grantaire mutters quietly, clearly trying to refrain from giggling.

After a moment, he says, “Are you mad? I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“You never mean to, but you do it anyway.” It’s much harder to stay mad at Grantaire when he can actually hear his voice, though.

“Sorry. I was going to continue and say it’s a good thing before you started yelling.”

“I wasn’t yelling.”

“Were too.”

“No, I wasn’t!”

“Okay, fine, you weren’t,” Grantaire says, even though Enjolras had just started yelling again. “But it is a good thing to know. Because if you could separate yourself from your causes, maybe you wouldn’t feel so stressed out all the time, like everyone who believes in different things than you is personally attacking you.”

“Are you sure you’re not a psychology major?”

“I took one psych class to meet a requirement in first year and got a C.”

“That’s not very good.”

“It was my worst grade ever, thank you very much,” Grantaire huffs. “Just… relax, okay? Don’t get so worked up over things that aren’t going to matter in the long run.” Enjolras tries to protest, surely ready to explain why they do matter in the long run, but Grantaire doesn’t let him. “Just relax.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” There’s a moment of silence before Grantaire speaks again.

“We’ve been on the phone for an hour and a half,” Grantaire says, “and it hasn’t been awkward since the first two minutes.”

“I guess you aren’t really that bad at this.”

“Or I just finally have someone I like talking to.”

Enjolras smiles. “I like talking to you, too.”

“Hey, while I have you on the phone,” Grantaire says, “I should probably use this opportunity to tell you how crazy I am about you. Since you can actually hear my voice for once.”

“Um, I… um—” Enjolras sputters, trying to remember how his tongue works. “I’m crazy about you, too,” he says back, in a very small voice.

He can practically feel Grantaire’s smile on the other side of the call. “I’m really glad you stole my cell phone, Enjolras.”

“Me, too.” Then, a moment later: “Hey, wait, you totally stole mine first!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for homophobia from parents. It's not described in detail, but what actually happened is pretty bad.

On Wednesday, two weeks later, Enjolras is lying on his bed after class, on the phone with Grantaire again. Talking on the phone has become their regular method of communication, and Enjolras is positive his cell phone bill is going to be through the roof this month.

“Can I ask you something?” he says.

“You just did.”

“Really, Grantaire?”

“Fine, ask.”

“Do you get along with your parents?”

“Sort of.”

“Wow, thank you for that detailed answer. I thought you’d never shut up.”

“Screw you,” Grantaire says, but he’s laughing. “Okay, long answer. My dad died a long time ago so I don’t really have to get along with him. My mom and I get along okay, though we didn’t for a long time.”

“Oh. Sorry about your dad.”

“It’s okay. It was like twelve years ago.”

“How did he die? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Car accident,” Grantaire says. “He was drunk. It’s lucky that he only hurt himself.”

“Oh,” Enjolras says softly.

“Yeah. So why did you ask? Did you just want to know, or…?”

“I mean, I did want to know. I always want to know more about you. But I asked because I had to talk to my father on the phone today for the first time since Christmas.”

“Had to?”

“Yes. I don’t get along with my parents.”

“At all?”

“At all.”

“How come?”

“Because they’re homophobic assholes. Also racist, sexist, pretentious… just about every way you can be assholes.”

“More so than everyone else’s parents?”

“Did everyone else’s parents kick their kid out when they found out he was gay?”

The line goes quiet for a moment.

“They did that to you?”

“Mhmm.”

“Enjolras…”

“Relax, I’m fine. It’s not really as bad as it sounds,” Enjolras says, overly flippant. “I was already living in rez when I told them. It was when I came home at Christmas during freshman year. They flipped out and said all the usual crap that people say when they’re kicking a person out, “no son of mine will blah blah blah,” and I left and got on a bus and came back to school. They keep the residence open over Christmas in case for some reason someone wants to stay. Except that Courfeyrac had lost his key to the building a week before, so I’d given him mine to use until he got a new one, and then he’d left for Christmas before I got back. So I was locked out for two days over the weekend until the super let me in on Monday.”

“There weren’t any students going in and out that could have let you in?”

“No. Nobody stayed for the break that year.”

“So what did you do?”

“Slept at a homeless shelter.”

“What?!”

“It was either that or sleep outside in the snow. My parents cut off my bank account for a while after I left. But then I finally got back in the rez, and I spent Christmas there.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says quietly. “That’s horrible.”

“Mhmm. But anyway. So my parents didn’t talk to me for like two years, so I went home with Combeferre in the summer and on breaks, or just stayed at school. But for the last year or so they’ve been making me come home to visit. They say they’re trying to make up for what they did, even though they refuse to acknowledge my sexuality and they make snide comments about me and my friends and Les Amis the whole time I’m there.”

“Why do you go then?”

“Because they’re still paying my tuition, and I can’t afford to pay it without them.”

“And what did your father say today?”

“That I have to come home for spring break or they’re going to stop paying it.”

“Aw, Enjolras… That sucks so much. I’m really sorry.”

“Mhmm,” Enjolras mumbles quietly.

“I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better.”

“Talking to you makes me feel better.”

“Well, that I can do, at least.”

***

They hang up fifteen minutes later, Grantaire needing to work on a project due the next day. Enjolras sits up and wipes his eyes on his sleeve before going out into the kitchen to get some food.

Combeferre’s already there, making a second omelette to add to the one that's finished on a plate on the counter.

“Hey,” he says when Enjolras enters and sits on one of the barstools. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras says, not caring to elaborate.

“Were you arguing on the phone? Your face is all…” he trails off.

“No, it wasn’t a lovers’ spat, if that’s what you’re asking,” Enjolras says, rubbing his eyes again. “I was telling Grantaire about my parents; it wasn’t him I was mad at. He was being really nice about it.”

Combeferre’s mouth falls open, responding to something behind Enjolras’s head, but Enjolras is paying attention to the omelette on the counter instead.

“Is that omelette for me? ‘Cause I’m really—”

“Oh. My. God,” comes a voice from behind Enjolras.

“What the—?”

“DO YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND?!” Courfeyrac yells, eyes popping.

Enjolras looks at him, then flings his head around to aim a look of betrayal at Combeferre.

“Why did you ask me about Grantaire if you knew he was here?!”

“I didn’t! I asked if you were arguing on the phone! I purposely didn’t use any names. I didn’t think he was going to come in here yet anyway.”

“I—I…ugh!” Enjolras yells. He turns to Courfeyrac, who is frozen in the doorway, looking like Christmas, Halloween, and his birthday have all come at once.

“No, Courfeyrac, I don’t have a boyfriend,” Enjolras says loudly.

“But you just said—”

“He’s not my boyfriend, okay? He’s just someone I’ve been talking to.”

“Romantically?”

“Yes,” says Combeferre, fake-coughing over the word.

“Will. You. Shut. Up!”

“Sorry, Enjolras, but he knows now. There’s no saving the situation. And now I don’t have to lie anymore!”

“You knew, and you didn’t tell me?” Courfeyrac says to Combeferre, shaking his head in disapproval. “My god, what is this friendship coming to? If you two don’t start telling me what’s going on in your lives, I’m going to have to move in here to keep up with you. Believe me, it’ll work; I know way more than I ever wanted to about Marius.”

“So do I, and I hardly know anything,” Enjolras snorts. He stops laughing when he sees that Courfeyrac is starting to look genuinely hurt.

“Look, Courf, I’m sorry for not telling you, but you always make such a big deal out of these things.”

“Because it is a big deal!”

“No, it’s not,” Enjolras says, irritated. “I don’t want to make a whole thing out of this. I’ll tell you about him now if you promise to stop freaking out. You look like a puppy that just got asked to go for a walk.”

Courfeyrac, making an effort to still himself, comes and sits down on the stool beside Enjolras.

“I promise I’ll be good,” he says, his mouth twitching as he tries to hide his grin. “Ferre, can I eat my omelette now?”

“Sure,” Combeferre says, passing it over. “Enjolras, do you want this one? I’ll make myself a new one if you do.”

“Yes, please,” Enjolras says sheepishly. Combeferre plates it and hands it to him. “Thank you, Ferre.”

“Any time.”

“So,” Courfeyrac says, mouth full of food. “You said his name is Grantaire?” Enjolras nods. “Bahorel’s friend Grantaire?”

“You’ve met him too?! First Ferre, and now you,” Enjolras says, frustrated.

“No,” Courfeyrac says slowly. “I’ve just heard his name… Why did it make you mad to think that I had?” His face brightens when he realizes why. “Oh my lord, have you never even met him?”

Enjolras takes a bite of his omelette instead of responding.

“So you’re dating him over the phone. That is _just_ the—” whatever he was going to say gets cut off my Enjolras’s death glare. “—most normal thing I have ever heard,” he finishes quickly. “So why haven’t you met him?”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras says honestly. “He says he can’t meet up yet, and he won’t tell me why.”

“That’s shady as shit,” Courfeyrac says.

“Courf,” Combeferre cautions.

“Well, it is. It’s not like he’s a predator or something, but it’s really weird that he knows and hangs out with a bunch of your friends and not you.”

“If he says he can’t, there’s nothing I can do about it,” Enjolras says defensively. “I can’t force him to see me, or stalk him or something. I trust that whatever reason he has is valid. Joly vouched for him, too, and I know Joly wouldn’t do that if there weren’t a good reason.”

“Okay,” Courfeyrac says simply, dropping that line of questioning, likely due to the looks of warning that Combeferre’s giving him.

They move on to other topics, like _can I see a picture of him?_ and _how much do you talk?_ Enjolras answers all of Courfeyrac’s questions begrudgingly, taking his annoyance out on his omelette with the fork.

But when Enjolras tries to go to sleep that night, it’s Courfeyrac saying _that’s shady_ that won’t get out of his head.

***

Regardless of his doubts, the next day, Enjolras goes back to his usual routine for days when he’s without any club meetings to attend: wake up, go to school, come home and talk to Grantaire. Try and get some homework done in between. Grantaire had started telling Enjolras a story right when he had texted him that he was home.

R: _So I was like, I don’t care how much you want to pay me, I am not drawing that!!!_

E: _Hahahhaha_

R: _Some people man_

R: _Anyway_

R: _What are you doing??_

E: _Nothing_

R: _You’re texting me, that’s something_

E: _I’m also breathing and digesting food and my heart is pumping blood, but I didn’t think we were being that specific._

E: _What are you doing?_

R: _Nothing_

E: _Seriously!?_

R: _Well, all the stuff you said. But I’m just lying in bed. I took a nap after class and I woke up like ten minutes ago._

E: _I’m lying on my bed too haha. School was tiring._

Feeling sentimental for a moment, Enjolras texts:

E: _I wish you were here with me._

R: _What would you do if I was there with you? ;)_

E: _Punch you in the face for making a joke when I was trying to be nice._

R: _Haha and then what? ;)_

E: _Grantaire!!!!!_

R: _Hahahaha sorry. I couldn’t resist._

R: _I wish I was there with you too. Or that you were here with me._

R: _I wish I could hold you._

R: _And kiss you._

R: _I really want to kiss you._

Now, while Enjolras might not be the hippest person in the world, he’s not stupid, either. He can see what Grantaire’s trying to do. But if Grantaire wants to do this – without making jokes about it, that is – well… Enjolras is game.

E: _I want to kiss you too. I want to feel your hands in my hair._

Just to be sure he didn’t misunderstand Grantaire’s texts, he waits and lets him send the next message.

R: _I want to climb on top of you and kiss every inch of your neck._

Yeah, no misunderstandings there.

R: _Is this okay? Texting like this?_

E: _I’m pretty sure it’s called sexting, R. You don’t have to be shy about it. I want to._

R: _Okay :):)_

R: _Because I’ve been thinking about this a lot. I know all I have are pictures, and the sound of your voice, but you’re so sexy, Enjolras. I want you so badly._

Enjolras unzips his jeans and pulls his sweater up off of his stomach.

E: _I want you so much too. I want to touch you and make you feel good._

R: _Do you want to know what I would do to you?_

E: _Oaky_

E: _Okay*. Sorry, I got excited._

R: _:)_

R: _I would take your shirt off and move down your chest slowly with my mouth. I’d stop and suck on your nipples. I’d start touching your cock through your pants._

Enjolras slips a hand inside his boxers, taking himself in his hand.

R: _And then when my mouth got to your hips, I’d pull your pants and underwear off and touch you while I kiss your hipbones and your thighs._

R: _And then I’d take your cock in my mouth and suck you off so well that you’d be moaning and pumping against my face._

A small noise escapes the back of Enjolras's throat.

E: _Can I please call you? I can’t type with one hand._

R: _Oh my god._

R: _Yes._

Enjolras wastes no time pressing ‘Call.’ Any shyness he had left about talking to Grantaire on the phone is long gone now, lost in the heat.

“Hi,” Grantaire answers, his voice hoarser than usual. “Did you mean that you’re—?”

“Touching myself? Yes,” Enjolras answers. “Please tell me you are too.”

“Of course I am. _God,_ Enjolras, this is so hot. _You’re_ so hot. Hearing your voice while I do this is incredible.”

“I think about you when I touch myself, every time. Is that okay?” Enjolras says between breaths.

“Ugh,” Grantaire moans. “Yes it’s okay, it’s better than okay. I think about you too. I imagine it’s you touching me.”

“I wish it was. I want to put my hands and my mouth all over you, Grantaire. And I want to feel you inside of me. I want you to finger me, and then I want you to fuck me.”

Grantaire moans loudly. “Oh my god, yes, you have no idea how much I want to. I want to see your pretty blond hair on my pillow, and I want to fuck you and make you scream.”

Enjolras almost does scream, then, biting his bottom lip to keep quiet. “ _Grantaire_ ,” he cries, as he comes onto his stomach.

Grantaire’s breathing hitches on the other side of the call, then he moans Enjolras’s name into the speaker, and Enjolras knows that he has finished, too.

“Ummm,” Enjolras says a minute later, feeling his cheeks flush as the euphoria wears off. “Did you like that?”

“Are you kidding?” Grantaire says, still breathing hard. “That was amazing. You liked it, right?”

“Yes,” Enjolras says quickly. “I loved it.”

“Mmm,” Grantaire says. “We’re going to have to do _that_ more often.”


	6. Chapter 6

That night, Enjolras sleeps like a baby. But when he wakes up on Friday morning, something feels… off.

He can’t concentrate in class, and he feels a little nauseous after he eats lunch. He’s not really sure what’s wrong, however, until he comes home in the evening and finds Combeferre and Courfeyrac asleep on the couch together.

They’ve got textbooks spread out on their laps; clearly they were trying to study and both got too tired. In their sleep, they have curled around each other, Courfeyrac’s head falling onto Combeferre’s chest, Combeferre’s arms around him. If this was the first time he had seen them like this, Enjolras might have wondered whether there was something non-platonic going on, but they’ve been doing this for years. Apparently Enjolras is the only one of the three of them that can get through a day without a nap.

Seeing them together makes the pieces of the puzzle click together in his head, though, and he knows what he has to do. He heads into his room, grabs his phone, and calls Grantaire.

“Hi,” Grantaire answers with a smile in his voice.

“Hi,” Enjolras says rather shortly. “I want to talk to you about something.” Enjolras has never been good at subtlety.

“Okay.” Grantaire’s smile seems to be gone.

“Okay. So… what we did yesterday, on the phone… I feel obligated to tell you that I’ve never done that with someone before. And not only that, but I have never done any of those things we talked about before, except kissing. I still meant everything that I said. I want to do all of those things, and I want to do them with _you_ , but I thought that you should know that so that you aren’t… misled.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says simply. “Well, that’s okay with me.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, of course I’m sure. Do you think that I wouldn’t like you just because you’re inexperienced or something? Enjolras, that would be silly.”

“I’m glad,” Enjolras answers. “But that was only the first part of what I have to say.”

He continues: “I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t done any of this before, or just because of something about me, but I’ve been feeling bad all day today. I couldn’t figure out what was happening for a while, because I don’t at all regret doing that with you, but I know why I feel bad now.”

“Why?” Grantaire asks quietly.

“Because I’m lonely, R. I put myself completely out of my comfort zone, and I _wanted_ to, but now I feel upset about it. And there’s no one I can turn to.”

“I’m really sorry,” Grantaire says, sounding like he’s about to launch into an apology, but Enjolras stops him.

“You don’t have to be. But maybe there is something you can do about it.”

“What?”

“Go on a date with me, Grantaire. A real one.” Enjolras wishes that his voice doesn’t sound so desperate as he says it.

Grantaire doesn’t say anything, which sends Enjolras into a babbling fit to cover the silence.

“You don’t have to answer right away. I know I just sprung this on you out of nowhere. But I—”

“Okay.”

“What? Oh my god. Really?!”

“Yeah.”

Enjolras, alone in his room, actually does the tiniest little victory dance.

“I didn’t think you’d actually say yes! You’re sure you want to?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“’Kay,” Enjolras says, suddenly shy. “Are you free tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow sounds good. I could come pick you up at five, if you want?”

“Five is perfect!”

“Okay.”

“I’m so excited to finally meet you.”

“Me, too, Enjolras.”

Enjolras feels like his face is going to crack from smiling so much.

“I’m going to go now, though, if that’s okay,” Grantaire is saying. “I have some work to get tonight since I won’t be doing it tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Enjolras answers. They bid each other goodbye, and Enjolras hangs up.

He makes for the living room, to wake up Courfeyrac and Combeferre and tell them about his date. He tries not to pay attention to the little voice in the back of his head that’s telling him Grantaire didn’t sound even half as excited as he did.

***

Enjolras wakes up early on Saturday to get some work done and to make sure he has time to change outfits ten times before Grantaire shows up. He settles on a red plaid shirt and black jeans, and then gets started working on a presentation that’s coming up next week.

He and Grantaire didn’t talk much the previous night after setting the date, Grantaire having work to do, and Enjolras doesn’t want to text him today unless Grantaire sends something first. He doesn’t want to seem clingy.

Around three p.m., he hears voices in the living room, some permutation of Les Amis, come to study or not, and he goes to join them and get a snack.

He finds Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jehan, and, strangely, Eponine sitting in the living room, setting up a Monopoly board on the table.

“Hi, Enjolras!” Jehan greets him.

“Hello all,” he says, his gaze resting on Eponine.

“You’re wondering what the hell I’m doing in your apartment, aren’t you?” she asks bluntly. “Don’t worry. I am too.”

“You’re welcome, of course,” Enjolras says. “But it is a little weird to see you here.”

“It’s weird to be here,” she confirms. “But less weird than what I was doing before Courfeyrac saved me.”

Enjolras looks to Courfeyrac for an explanation.

“Marius invited Eponine over to watch movies with him and Cosette,” he says. “So that the three of them could bond.”

“The only things bonding were Marius and Cosette’s lips as they proceeded to make out right in front of me,” Eponine mutters, scrunching her nose. Jehan chuckles beside her, and Enjolras makes a disgusted face in sympathy.

“It was truly revolting, even for them,” Courfeyrac says. “I told them I had to drag Eponine away for official Les Amis business. Which turned out to be a game of Monopoly.”

“I’d ask you to play, but I know you have a big da-a-a-ate,” Jehan says in a singsong, fluttering his eyelashes.

“Don’t be gross, Prouvaire,” Enjolras says fondly. He grabs an orange from the fridge and then joins them for a while, watching the game and acting as a strategy coach instead of a player.

Twenty minutes into the game, Courfeyrac’s head snaps up.

“Enjolras!” he yells. “If you kiss Grantaire tonight, I’m not going to be the only person you’ve ever kissed anymore!”

“Did I not ask you to stop bringing that up?!” Enjolras says angrily, going from zero to one hundred in no time. “I guess I was good, Courf, because it’s been three years, and you still won’t shut up about it.” Courfeyrac’s howling with laughter now, which just makes Enjolras more annoyed. “And I kissed Feuilly first,” he adds. He knows it will irritate Courfeyrac, who always has to be the centre of attention.

“Barely,” he says, rolling his eyes.

It was during their freshman year at a party in Bossuet’s residence’s common room, and Enjolras was the drunkest he had ever been – still has ever been. Someone – probably Courfeyrac, honestly – suggested they play Spin the Bottle, and Enjolras had been hammered and stupid enough to agree.

Enjolras managed to avoid the first few rounds, which saw the beginnings of the Joly/Bossuet/Musichetta relationship and a very awkward kiss between Combeferre and Bahorel. Then Feuilly had spun Enjolras. He was nice enough to make it as quick as possible, so that Enjolras wouldn’t have to deal with the hooting and hollering that was going on around them.

But Enjolras had to spin again, and he had the terrible luck to end up with Courfeyrac. He had this stupid, arrogant smirk on his lips, and Enjolras had wanted so badly to wipe that look off of his face that he jumped on him, tackled him to the floor, and made out with him filthily for a good two minutes. The look of pure shock on Courfeyrac’s face when he finally let up was priceless.

“You’ll have to move on from me sometime, Courf,” Enjolras says in an attempt at conceit. It fails, and everyone but Enjolras descends into giggles. Enjolras just ignores them until they stop, fuming with exasperation.

They keep playing Monopoly, but Jehan and Courfeyrac can’t hold back the annoying date jokes, and even though they mean nothing by them, they’re starting to make Enjolras nervous. Eventually he leaves them in favour of pacing impatiently around his bedroom, only coming back out at a quarter to five to wait for Grantaire. There’s no way he’s letting anyone else answer the door.

Grantaire still hasn’t talked to him at all that day.

He doesn’t show up early, and, once 5:00 arrives, he doesn’t show up on time, either.

Enjolras tries very hard to pretend that it isn’t bothering him, focussing on the game board to avoid staring at the door.

When 5:20 comes and Grantaire still isn’t there, he excuses himself to go call him from the bedroom.

 _He’s probably just running late, or he can’t find your apartment_ , Enjolras tells himself. He presses Grantaire’s number in the Contacts list and waits. The call goes to voicemail.

He sends a text:

E: _Hey, is everything okay?_ _Are you on the way?_

E: _:)_

He doesn’t get a reply. He hears Combeferre call him from the living room, but he doesn’t answer.

He tries calling again, and then again. No answer either time. He leaves what is probably a very panicky message. Then he calls Joly.

“Yo,” Joly answers.

“Hi, it’s me,” E says quickly. “Do you think you could try calling Grantaire for me? He was supposed to be here half an hour ago, and he’s not answering my calls.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.”

Joly hangs up, and Enjolras sits down on the edge of bed. He feels like all of the muscles in his body have turned to lead.

His phone buzzes a few minutes later, and he snatches it up quickly. It’s just Joly.

J: _Hey… Grantaire’s going to text you._

J: _I’m so sorry, okay Enjolras?_

Enjolras doesn’t have time to understand before Grantaire’s message comes in.

R: _Hey, I’m really sorry, but I can’t come today. Nothing’s wrong, I just can’t come._

Enjolras’s feels all the weight leave his body. He feels like he’s shaking apart.

E: _What happened? Are you okay?_

E: _Grantaire?_

E: _If nothing’s wrong, why can’t you come?_

Enjolras waits twenty whole minutes in his room, not looking away from the phone for a second. There’s no reply.

He was worried when Grantaire didn’t answer before, but what he was worried about what that he was in some sort of situation where he couldn’t get to his phone. But now… he knows Grantaire has his phone with him. And that he’s choosing not to reply.

Enjolras tries calling one more time, which is far more consideration than he’d give anyone else. The call, predictably, goes to voicemail.

“Hi,” Enjolras says. “Grantaire, please talk to me. Just tell me what’s going on. Please.”

He hangs up, unable to say anything else. _How could Grantaire do this to him, after all the time they’ve spent talking?_

He wonders how long he can stay in his room before his friends come in to find him. Probably not very long. He knows they must all be discussing why Grantaire hasn’t shown up yet, so he might as well go stop them doing that right now.

The disappointment must read on his face when he opens the door, because all four sets of eyes in the room immediately widen.

“He’s, um…,” Enjolras says, his voice quivering dangerously over the words. “He’s not coming.”

And then, just when he thought the situation couldn’t possibly get any worse, he starts crying.

Enjolras is not normally a crier. Aside from the few tears he shed on the phone to Grantaire two weeks earlier, it’s been months since he’s cried in earnest. Of all of his friends, Combeferre is the only one who has ever been there to witness it. He doesn’t show weakness often, and when he does, it takes a heavy toll on him. But he’s crying now, hard, covering his face with his hands, unable to move.

It’s only seconds before Courfeyrac reaches him, pulling him into the tightest hug possible. Enjolras buries his face in his shoulder and makes no effort to stop the sobbing. Combeferre comes over and puts a reassuring hand on his back.

“Eponine and I will make some tea,” Jehan says softly, patting Enjolras’s arm as they pass.

Enjolras allows Courfeyrac to drag him over to the couch, where he and Combeferre sit down on either side of him, Courfeyrac wrapping Enjolras up in a hug again.

“We’re really sorry, Enjolras,” Combeferre says gently. “Do you want to tell us what happened?”

“I don’t know what happened,” Enjolras says into Courfeyrac’s sweatshirt. “He didn’t even tell me. I had to call Joly to make him talk to me, and then he wouldn’t give a reason.”

“That stupid bast—” Courfeyrac starts.

“Don’t,” Enjolras mumbles. “Don’t do that right now.”

“Sorry,” Courfeyrac says, planting a kiss on the top of Enjolras’s head. “I just can’t stand to see you upset like this.”

Enjolras just squeezes his eyes shut and doesn’t say anything. Combeferre rubs circles on his back while he sits.

A few minutes later, Jehan and Eponine come back in with a tray of tea.

“Drink some of this,” Jehan says, tapping Enjolras’s knee. “It’ll make you feel a tiny bit better.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras says, sitting up. He wipes his face on his sleeve, trying to avoid the embarrassing he feels at them all seeing him like this, and then reaches out to take a cup. “Sorry about your shirt,” he says to Courfeyrac. His sweatshirt has a big tear stain on the front of it.

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll dry,” Courfeyrac says gently.

“We’re really sorry, E,” Jehan says.

“Seriously,” Eponine echoes. “It sucks.”

“Thanks, guys,” Enjolras says, because it’s not their fault, and he doesn’t want to make them feel bad, too. They’re being the best friends anyone could ask for.

The whole room is quiet while Enjolras drinks his tea, and it becomes too much. He asks them to do something other than sit and pity him in silence. They go back to their monopoly game, Courfeyrac adopting Enjolras onto his team.

The game goes on for hours, as Monopoly games often do, pizzas ordered and consumed somewhere in between turns. Enjolras hardly says anything other than to tell Courfeyrac when he’s about to make a bad move. Courfeyrac keeps his arm around Enjolras the whole time, and Enjolras pulls his legs up beside him to lean into his shoulder. Times like these are when Courfeyrac shines as a friend; his overenthusiasm towards friendship can sometimes be maddening, but right now, Enjolras is incredibly grateful for it. Combeferre keeps a hand on Enjolras’s ankle, as if to keep him grounded.

Enjolras checks his phone every so often, trying and failing not to attract attention as he does, but there’s nothing new except a text from Joly asking if he’s okay. He shows Combeferre, and Combeferre texts Joly to answer for him. No matter how much he wants to, he’s not going to text Grantaire again tonight.

The Monopoly game ends – Eponine wins by a landslide – and they put on a movie, some comedy about cops or lawyers or something that Enjolras has never heard of. He doesn’t pay it any attention. He can’t think about anything but Grantaire’s message. _Hey, I’m really sorry, but I can’t come today._

Midnight comes, and no one seems willing to move in case Enjolras breaks when they do. His friends fall asleep around him as the movie plays on, until it’s just Enjolras and Eponine awake.

“Hey,” Eponine says, turning from where she’s sitting on the floor against the couch to face Enjolras. “Do you want to go to bed? I’ll wake them up to leave after you go, if you want.”

Enjolras nods. He doesn’t think he can take their sappy goodbyes. Besides, Combeferre will still be here if he needs him.

He’s actually rather glad that Eponine showed up; she’s far less solicitous than the others, which makes Enjolras feels a little more like his regular, competent self. He gets up off the couch, careful not to wake Courfeyrac as he moves.

“Hey,” Eponine says again, standing up as he heads for his room. “I know how shitty you must feel right now.”

If anyone else in the world had said that, Enjolras would have thought it was bullshit. But coming from her, he believes it.

“And I know that sympathy won’t make you feel better at all,” she continues, “but the least I can say is that is rock bottom. You’ll never feel as bad about him again as you do right now. I know that’s hardly comforting, but it’s something.”

She’s right about never feeling this bad again, but she’s also right that it isn’t comforting. “Thanks,” is all Enjolras can say.

Eponine just nods. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Enjolras goes into his room and lays down on the bed, listening to the sounds of his friends leaving. He can hear Courfeyrac arguing with Eponine, saying that he wants to come in and say goodnight. She wins the argument, and he hears the front door shut behind them.

“Enjolras?” Combeferre’s voice comes through the door.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay? I mean, I know you’re not, but do you need anything?”

“No thanks, Ferre,” he calls back.

“Okay,” Combeferre says. “Goodnight. I hope you feel better in the morning.”

Enjolras doesn’t answer. He gets up and changes into pajamas, then gets into bed. He checks his phone one last time, but there’s still nothing there. Thankfully, he falls asleep quickly, too exhausted to stay awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...... I think some of you are going to be mad at me now. I'm really very sorry.


	7. Chapter 7

Having forgotten to set an alarm the night before, Enjolras sleeps in almost until noon.

For some people, after a tragedy, there’s a moment in the first seconds you’re awake the next morning when you can’t remember the events of the previous day, and when you still feel calm and relaxed. Enjolras has no such moment; everything comes back to him immediately.

He checks his phone with low expectations and is still disappointed when there’s nothing there. He leaves his room and finds that Combeferre’s already gone to work, but there’s a note from him on the counter telling Enjolras to call him if he needs anything. Enjolras knows he won’t call.

He pokes around the kitchen looking for something to eat, but nothing seems appetizing, so he stops looking and goes to shower.

His thoughts never stray from Grantaire. There’s nothing else in the world to think about except _why? Why did he do this?_ Enjolras argues with himself over whether or not to try calling or texting him today, badly wanting to but knowing that he shouldn’t give Grantaire the satisfaction.

In the end, he doesn’t have to decide, because when Enjolras steps out of the shower and comes back to his room, he finds his phone ringing on the bed, Grantaire’s _R_ displayed on the screen. He lunges instinctively at the bed and answers the call.

“Please don’t hang up,” Grantaire says before Enjolras can say a word.

Enjolras’s chest fills up, half with the pleasure of hearing Grantaire’s voice again when he thought he never would, and half with sparks of anger that he was too shocked to feel yesterday.

“Are you there?” Grantaire asks.

Yes.” Enjolras just waits for whatever Grantaire has to say.

“Okay, okay” Grantaire says. His voice sounds strange, his breath catching in his pauses. “I need to talk to you, and I promise I’ll tell you everything, whatever you want to know, just please don’t hang up on me.”

Enjolras still stays silent.

“You can decide to hang up when I’m done if you want,” Grantaire continues. “But I owe you an explanation, at least.”

 _Yes, you really do,_ Enjolras thinks, growing angrier by the second. He can at least listen to what Grantaire has to say, even if only to sate his curiosity.

“Fine,” Enjolras says shortly.

“Okay,” Grantaire says again. Then he begins.

“I… I have a drinking problem, Enjolras,” he says, stuttering over the words. “I have for three years. It used to be manageable, but it started getting worse and worse in the fall, I don’t really know why, maybe because school was stressful or something, but um… I had to go to rehab for three weeks. And I failed two of my classes because of it, so I have to retake them in the summer.

“But the rehab helped. I went home for Christmas and my mom was really good about helping me. I told you that we didn’t get along for a long time, and it was because of my drinking. But I started getting better. I still have to go to counselling every week. But I was doing okay.

“Um… but I just… Well, when I went to Bahorel’s party, that was the first time after Christmas that I saw our friends again, and my first time going to a party again. And I ended up just… just losing it. That was why I left early. It wasn’t even being around people that were drinking again, even though that was hard. It was just…

“This is really hard to say. But I just… I don’t like myself. I mean, when I’m sober. When I’m drinking, I feel funny and confident and it’s easy to talk to people, but when I’m not, I just… I feel like I want to crawl out of my skin. It’s why I started drinking in the first place. I used to feel bad about myself, and then I would drink to feel better. But now I… I don’t feel bad or good, I just feel like nothing.

“It’s okay when I’m in class or at the gym and I don’t have to talk much – and if you asked any of our friends, they’d tell you that even though they see me, I hardly talk to them anymore – but if I have to talk to new people, or something, I just feel horrible. I was so surprised when you said you saw me smile at the bagel guy, because I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I felt shaky and sick just talking to him.

“And then I started talking to you, and it was so much easier because we were just texting, and I could take time to think about what to say before I said it. And then once I got to know you more, talking on the phone was okay, too.

“But when you asked me to meet up in person, I started freaking out, because I thought I was going to ruin what we had because I’m just… nothing, I’m just… I knew I couldn’t do it, but I didn’t tell you because I kept wishing that I would change my mind. And then the time I was supposed to meet you passed, and you called me, and I knew I had just fucked everything up.”

Grantaire’s breathing becomes ragged on the other end of the call, and Enjolras finally realizes why his voice sounds strange: he’s crying.

“And then last night I got really drunk to forget about how I hurt you,” Grantaire says between gasps. “And now I don’t know what to do, and I know I have no business calling you, but I don’t know who else to talk to—”

Grantaire dissolves into sobs then, and Enjolras lets out a long breath he doesn’t realize he’s been holding. Enjolras doesn’t say anything, because he’s not sure if Grantaire’s finished. He waits a moment until he hears Grantaire’s breathing return to normal.

“Are you still there?” Grantaire asks quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to hang up now?”

Enjolras thinks about it.

“No,” he says finally, and Grantaire’s relief is palpable though the phone.

Enjolras is still angry, though. “I wish you had told me.”

“I know. But I couldn’t. You wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with me.”

“You’ve told me now and I’m still on the phone, aren’t I?”

“Yes.”

“I care about you, Grantaire. Even now, when I feel like finding out where you live just to come strangle you because of yesterday. I still care. And I would have felt the same way before. I would have helped you!”

“I couldn’t take your help,” Grantaire says. “Talking to you… I can’t remember the last time I ever felt that excited about something. It got to the point where I didn’t feel like I was living unless I was talking to you. But if I do that, if I depend on you like that, what would happen to me if you left me? I can’t build everything on you.”

“Jesus Christ, Grantaire. Just because you want to do something _for_ yourself doesn’t mean you have to do it _by_ yourself. You’re going to get yourself killed if you push everyone away.”

“It’s just so hard to talk about—”

“It’s _always_ hard, Grantaire. I told you about everything that was going on with me, everything that happened with my parents. It’s always hard to talk about things that are hurting you, but you do it because it makes things better. Look what happened to you because you didn’t tell anyone how you felt.”

“I know,” Grantaire whispers.

“I just don’t—” Enjolras breaks off, trying not to yell, squeezing his eyes closed. “What do you want from me, Grantaire? I want to help you, even now, but you have to accept my help. Or somebody else’s, if not mine. If you want me, you can’t just keep shutting me out, I can’t take it.”

“I do want your help, I mean, that’s why I called, but I just… you won’t like me.”

“I already do like you!” Enjolras yells in frustration. “You say that you don’t know how to talk to people anymore, but you’ve been talking to me for almost two months, Grantaire, and I’m crazy about you! The only thing you’re doing wrong is refusing to see me!”

“I know, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

“Then make it up to me, Grantaire.”

“What?”

“Meet with me. Right now. I’ll come to your apartment, because I don’t trust you to show up at mine.”

“I… my place is a bit of a mess.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse. Do you want me or not, R?”

“Yes,” Grantaire says. “Of course I do. Okay. Okay, come over.”

Enjolras doesn’t even feel the happiness below the anger still running through him. “What’s your address?”

“It’s the apartment building at the corner of Ellis and East 47th. Apartment 212.”

Enjolras heart skips a beat. Grantaire already knows E’s address from their original date plans, but Enjolras hadn’t known his.

“You live three fucking blocks from me and you didn’t say anything?!”

“Sorry.”

“God dammit Grantaire. I’m leaving as soon as I get dressed so you better be ready.”

“I will be.”

“Is your roommate there?”

“No, he went away on Friday. He’s coming back tomorrow night.”

“Good.” Enjolras hangs up.

It’s a funny feeling getting ready for a date in a state of total fury, but Enjolras manages. He puts on the same outfit as the day before, annoyed that the shirt is a little wrinkled now, and then shoves on his coat and leaves.

He sends a quick text to Combeferre in the elevator.

E: _If I’m not home when you get there, I’ll be at Grantaire’s. I know that sounds ridiculous after yesterday, but I’ll explain later._

It’s all Enjolras can do not to run the three short blocks to Grantaire’s place, but he doesn’t want to show up sweaty and out of breath. The sidewalk’s too icy for it anyway.

Eight minutes later, he’s standing in front of Grantaire’s door. He knocks without hesitation. Grantaire opens the door quickly, as though he’d been standing waiting on the other side.

For a moment, Enjolras can’t breathe. He’s seen Grantaire before, but not up close, not like this, not with Grantaire looking back at him. His eyes are so blue. Enjolras almost can’t take feeling _so_ _much._

Then he throws himself at Grantaire, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, one hand on his back and the other in his hair, kicking the door shut behind him with surprising grace. He holds him as tight as he possibly can, as though Grantaire’s going to fall apart if he lets go. Grantaire raises his arms to hold Enjolras, tentatively at first, then tighter, burying his face in Enjolras’s coat. Enjolras thinks he can feel Grantaire shaking, but it might him instead, or it might be both of them. They stay there, unmoving, for a long time.

 _There’s already so much,_ Enjolras thinks, so much new information he’s learning about Grantaire just from this hug. The way he smells, like nutmeg and paint, how soft his hair is, how warm he feels around Enjolras, who’s just come in from the freezing cold.

Finally, he pulls back, because he wants to see Grantaire’s face. His blue eyes are a little red around the edges, and his face is less shaven than Enjolras is used to from pictures, but he looks _perfect,_ Enjolras thinks, just like he imagined. Grantaire’s just staring at him, too, taking him in.

“Hi,” Enjolras finally says.

“Hi.”

“I’m still really, really mad at you, you know,” Enjolras says, grinning, and not feeling the slightest bit angry.

“I know.”

And then, Enjolras is so excited to be there, to _finally_ be with Grantaire – _his Grantaire!_ – that he puts a hand on Grantaire’s jaw and pulls him in for a kiss.

He presses his lips to Grantaire’s hesitantly, worried Grantaire might pull away, but Grantaire deepens the kiss instead, parting Enjolras’s mouth and placing his hands on his hips.

“I thought you were nervous to see me,” Enjolras says lightly, when they stop to catch their breath. “There was nothing shy about that.” And Grantaire laughs, and Enjolras takes that as permission to kiss him again.

***

They spend the entire day together. Not only is Grantaire not shy, Enjolras finds out, but once you get him talking about something, you can’t shut him up.

Enjolras wants to comment on this sudden change of heart as Grantaire shows Enjolras his artwork, tells him about his crazy roommate Montparnasse, tells an old story about Joly and Bossuet, but he’s afraid to break the spell. Grantaire thought that he couldn’t talk to new people because of something innate inside of him, but Enjolras thinks he’s wrong. It’s nothing to do with Grantaire’s personality, which is sarcastic and sharp and sparkling once he lets you see it. It’s just that he needed someone he could trust.

They’re watching television after dinner (spaghetti bolognese – apparently, Grantaire can cook), cuddled together on the couch, when Grantaire turns to Enjolras, running his thumb across Enjolras’s cheek, and says: “I should have done this so long ago,” and Enjolras lets his last bit of worry about the situation go.

“That’s what I told you,” he replies softly.

“I thought it was going to be different,” Grantaire says, his voice brighter than Enjolras has ever heard it. “I thought it was going to be like at the party, when I was losing it. But it’s not like that with you at all. And I’m really sorry that I didn’t realize it earlier, before I hurt you.”

“You had your reasons.”

“That’s doesn’t excuse me ditching you like that.”

“Well… I’m excusing it. So consider it excused. Apology accepted,” Enjolras says, taking Grantaire’s hand. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t be here to help you before now. If I had known… well, that doesn’t matter now. But I’ll help you however you want me to. I promise I’ll respect whatever boundaries you need, so that you can do whatever you need to get better.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire says, smiling. “I know it sounds silly, because I slipped up last night for the first in months, but today is the first time I’ve really felt like I might be okay again. I feel… I feel like a better version of myself, after today. I mean, my sponsor is going to kill me on Tuesday, so I’ll be dead, but at least I’m happy.”

Enjolras pulls Grantaire close and kisses him on the forehead. “I’m happy, too.”

They alternate between kissing and talking for the rest of the night, and at one point, in-between kisses, Grantaire whispers, “spend the night with me. We don’t have to do anything, just… I’ve only just got you here. I don’t want you to leave yet.” And Enjolras can’t say yes fast enough.

They’ve already changed into pajamas (Enjolras wearing a borrowed pair of green plaid pants and a black t-shirt and trying to stop blushing about it) when E realizes he doesn’t have his glasses. He slept in his contacts the night before, not bothering to take them out, and he doesn’t want to do it again. He texts Combeferre to see if he’ll bring them, and thankfully Combeferre obliges.

Grantaire hides in his bedroom when Combeferre knocks, not wanting to meet him in just his boxers. Enjolras answers the door.

“I guess everything’s okay with you two then,” Combeferre says, taking in the giddy look on Enjolras’s face and the unrecognizable clothes. He passes over the glasses and contact solution.

“Yes,” Enjolras stage-whispers to him.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Tomorrow,” Enjolras promises. “When I get home.”

“Okay,” Combeferre says, chuckling. “I’m going to assume you got a sufficient explanation for yesterday, since I know you, and I know you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. So I hope you have fun.”

“Goodnight, Ferre,” Enjolras says. “And thanks.”

“Of course. I’m glad you’re happy.”

Enjolras closes the door behind Combeferre, and goes to the washroom to take his contacts out. Then he goes back to Grantaire’s room to find Grantaire laying on the bed. Enjolras flops down beside him, laying on his side to face him.

“I’m back,” he says, suddenly aware that he’s lying in his crush’s bed, for the first time ever.

“God, Enjolras,” Grantaire says fondly. “Do you have any idea what you look like right now? Wearing my clothes and those stupid, sexy glasses of yours? I’m going to have a heart attack.”

Enjolras opens his mouth to return the compliment, but Grantaire interrupts him.

“Be my boyfriend,” he blurts. “Please. I want us to be together. I made such a big mistake not coming to get you yesterday, and now that you’re here, I want you to be mine. I know I fucked up, but if there’s any chance that you’ll—”

“Yes,” Enjolras says fervently before Grantaire can finish. “Yes, I want to be your boyfriend. It’s all I’ve wanted for weeks.”

“Oh thank _god_ ,” Grantaire says, and he pulls Enjolras close enough that their breath is mixed together. “Because I wanted to at least be dating you before I told you that I’m in love with you.”

Enjolras feels exhilarated when he hears it, every inch of him tingling. He wraps his arms around Grantaire, pressing their bodies together. “I love you, too, Grantaire,” he says, and then closes the gap between their lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys enjoyed this one, and that I didn't rot your teeth too much with the fluff!


	8. Chapter 8

R: _I think last night was the best night of my life._

E: _I think the best night of my life was when I was when I went to a Romney rally and got kicked out for yelling that he’s a fascist._

R: _What the fuck???_

E: _It’s a long story. Also I was kidding. Last night topped that for sure._

***

E: _I’m still sorry about earlier and I feel stupid_

R: _Seriously stop apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s flattering!_

E: _No it’s not, don’t patronize me._

R: _I would never patronize you. I don’t have a death wish! Don’t be silly E. It was great today and it will only keep getting better._

***

E: _What do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll bring food when I come over._

R: _Some of that steak that comes from cows that eat other cows, and maybe some lobster if you have enough $$$_

E: _The options that are between the library and your apartment are pizza, bubble tea, and that weird vegan place where all of the food is raw._

R: _Pizza it is then. See if they’ll put some lobster on it._

***

R: _Today was fun_

R: _:)_

R: _:):):):):):):):):):)_

E: _:):):):):):):):):):):)_

***

E: _Hi please don’t be mad but I spilled coffee on your sweater_

R: _What sweater?_

E: _The blue hoodie that you left here on Wednesday._

R: _Oh. That’s okay, it was cheap._

R: _How did you spill coffee on it? I put it on your coat rack when I came in._

E: _Don’t worry about it._

R: _Were you wearing it?!_

E: _No comment._

R: _OMG you are so cute._

***

E: _Just so you know: I love you! :)_

R: _I did know, but I never get sick of hearing it!_

R: _Also I love you too very very very very very very very very very much_

E: _:D_

***

The first three weeks of Grantaire and Enjolras’s relationship is, well… pretty much perfect.

They fall together easily, the rhythms they’d worked out over the phone adapting readily to their new, in-person rapport. They spend as much time together as they can, making up for all the time they wasted before. Grantaire meets Combeferre and Courfeyrac at Enjolras’s apartment, and they all get along easily, although Grantaire and Combeferre do rehash their argument about avocados at one point.

Enjolras is starting to think that his life couldn’t possibly get any better when suddenly, it does.

Enjolras is waiting outside of Grantaire’s apartment building when he returns from a boxing class on Friday evening, a little early for their usual meeting time.

“You look like you’re in a good mood today,” Grantaire smiles when he gets there. “Did something happen or are you just that happy to see me?”

“Kind of both,” Enjolras replies, following Grantaire to the door and up the stairs. “My father called me today, and guess what?”

“What?”

“He got called to France on business next week! I don’t have to go home!”

“Not at all?”

“Not at all! We get to spend the whole break together!”

They’ve reached the apartment door now, and Grantaire turns and pulls Enjolras in a hug. “ _That_ ,” he says, tilting his head up to give Enjolras a kiss, “is very good news. I think it calls for a celebration.”

Grantaire breaks the kiss just long enough to get the door unlocked, and then pulls Enjolras inside. As soon as Enjolras closes the door behind him, Grantaire pushes him up against it.

“Is Montparnasse home?” Enjolras whispers, as Grantaire trails kisses down his neck.

“Nope,” Grantaire replies. “He’s gone for the weekend again.”

Enjolras has only met Montparnasse once in passing, but he likes him just for the fact that is almost never home. Grantaire explanation of why he’s never there: “I honestly have no idea. He’s a pretty sketchy dude. Always pays the rent on time, though.”

Grantaire presses against Enjolras until there’s no space between them, and Enjolras can already feel his body responding. When Grantaire slips a hand between his legs, Enjolras can’t help but jerk against it.

“Bedroom?” he asks hoarsely.

“I have to shower first,” Grantaire mumbles against his jawline. “But you could join me.”

Enjolras nods eagerly. Grantaire takes his hand and leads him into the bathroom.

“Just give me two minutes to actually get clean,” Grantaire says as he pulls off his clothes, “and then you can come in.” Enjolras sits down on the closed toilet lid and watches him.

It’s not the first time he’s seen Grantaire naked. They haven’t had sex yet, but they’ve done other things, with their hands and their mouths and their fingers, memories which are making Enjolras hard as he pictures them now. In front of him, Grantaire is taut and toned and smiling at Enjolras, having noticed him looking.

“Two minutes,” he promises, turning on the shower and getting in.

Enjolras quickly takes off his own clothes, leaving them in the pile on the floor with Grantaire’s.

After what is definitely not a full two minutes – Grantaire must have been rushing – Enjolras hears Grantaire telling him to come in. He pulls the curtain back and steps into the steam, finding Grantaire waiting for him under the stream of water.

Enjolras is hit by shyness at first, just as he has been every time. He enjoys being intimate with Grantaire, _loves_ it even, but it’s all still very new to him to let someone see him like this. He’s reassured when he sees that Grantaire is already hard, waiting for him, and when Grantaire reaches out and pulls him under the water with him.

They kiss, Enjolras tangling a hand in Grantaire’s wet curls, and Grantaire sliding his hands down Enjolras’s back to grip his ass. He uses his grip to pull Enjolras against him, so that there’s nothing but the flow of water between them.

Their cocks are pressed between their hips, and Enjolras ruts up against Grantaire, and _oh, it’s so good,_ to glide against his skin so easily. Grantaire opens his mouth in a moan, and Enjolras takes the opportunity to slide his tongue over Grantaire’s lips obscenely.

“God, you’re so _filthy,_ ” Grantaire gasps as he turns them around, pinning Enjolras to the tile wall with a hand on Enjolras’s wrist. He pulls one of Enjolras’s legs up so it’s around his waist, and Enjolras is scared for a moment that he might fall, but Grantaire has a good grip on him. Grantaire supports Enjolras's leg with his arm, reaching that hand out to tease his entrance. Enjolras whines into Grantaire’s mouth at the feeling, desperate for more.

“Tell me what you want,” Grantaire says, biting down on Enjolras’s lower lip.

“Yes, yes—” Enjolras moans.

“No, tell me _exactly_ what you want,” Grantaire says again, slipping his hand up to stroke Enjolras’s cock once.

“Finger me, _please_ ,” Enjolras gets out between breaths. They’ve done it before, a few times, and Enjolras knows he needs to feel that again. Grantaire wastes no time obeying, slipping a wet finger inside Enjolras. Enjolras rewards him with something between a moan and a scream.

“More,” Enjolras commands, and Grantaire adds a second finger, and then a third, hitting him at just the right spot, making Enjolras shudder. Enjolras fucks back against his hand, and Grantaire grinds his own cock against Enjolras’s hip, his eyes never leaving his face.

“You look so pretty when you’re desperate like this, Enjolras,” Grantaire slurs, the words coming out in a rush. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

“You’re– _fuck_ ,” Enjolras answers, his original reply cut short as Grantaire’s fingers graze his prostate.

“I want you to fuck me,” Enjolras finally says, barely even able to form words anymore. “Please, R, please, I want you inside me.”

“I am inside you,” Grantaire says cheekily, ramming his fingers in harder.

“ _FUCK_ ,” Enjolras yells, his head falling forward onto Grantaire’s shoulder. “Your cock, I… I need—”

“Okay, okay,” says Grantaire breathlessly, clearly unable to tease him any longer. “But we have to get out and go in the bedroom.” He pull his fingers out of Enjolras, making Enjolras whimper, and turns off the water.

They dry off in record time and race into the bedroom, falling together on the bed. Grantaire grabs lube and a condom from the nightstand right away. He slicks his fingers up and puts them back inside Enjolras, Enjolras gasping, grateful to feel full again.

He’s already stretched out, though, so there’s no need to wait. Grantaire moves between Enjolras’s knees, spreading his legs on either side of him.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Grantaire asks him.

“Yes,” Enjolras says, his voice calm and steady now. “I’m sure.” Grantaire rips open the condom. “And I love you,” Enjolras adds.

Grantaire smiles. “I love you, too.”

He gets the condom on and moves into position, pulling Enjolras’s legs up around his waist. Then he presses inside of Enjolras, slowly, slowly, until he’s all the way in.

It’s a new feeling, and it’s a lot to take in, but it’s _good,_ Enjolras thinks, _it’s so fucking good._ He gives himself a moment to adjust before whispering to Grantaire that he can move.

Grantaire starts pumping then, picking up speed. He leans down to kiss Enjolras, their mouths moving messily against each other, Enjolras crying out as Grantaire hits his prostate over and over again.

“I can’t believe I’m finally fucking you,” Grantaire says chaotically. “I said I wanted you see your pretty hair on my pillow, and now you’re here, and you’re _so_ tight, and—” He breaks off in a gasp. “God, Enjolras, you feel so good, and you look so beautiful and _wrecked_.”

Enjolras tries to respond, but all he can get out is “ _Grantaire_ , I need—” and “please, please, _yes”_ in between loud moans.

Grantaire fists a hand in Enjolras’s hair, pulling him down onto his cock as he fucks up into him, and Enjolras knows he’s a goner.

“I’m gonna come,” he gasps abruptly. “Grantaire, please touch me, I’m gonna—”

Grantaire reaches his other hand down to pump him, and it only takes three strokes before Enjolras is biting his lip to keep from screaming, spending himself all over Grantaire’s hand.

He feels himself clench on Grantaire, and either that or his face is enough to send Grantaire over the edge, too, repeating _Enjolras, Enjolras_ as he finishes.

Grantaire pulls out of him, pressing kisses onto Enjolras’s chest as he moves, and then he cleans them both off with their towels. After, he lays down next to Enjolras, who curls up into his arms.

“So was it everything you hoped it would be?” Grantaire says after a minute, kissing Enjolras’s forehead.

“Better,” Enjolras says, smiling serenely. “Better than I could have imagined.”

“Can I confess something?” says Grantaire.

“What?”

“I had never done it sober before,” he says quietly, looking down.

“Oh,” Enjolras says softly.

“That was the best it’s ever been,” Grantaire continues. “Because I’m sober now, yes, but mostly because it was you.”

Enjolras smiles, filled with a bittersweet happiness at being Grantaire’s first for something mixed with sadness that Grantaire was unhappy for so long.

“I love you so much,” Enjolras says, trying to wash away any residual sadness Grantaire might be feeling now. “And I’m not going anywhere. We are going to do that _so_ many more times.”

“Thank _fuck,_ ” Grantaire laughs, pulling Enjolras in tight.


	9. Chapter 9

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Enjolras asks.

“Yes,” Grantaire replies for the third time, rolling his eyes. “Enjolras, really, I’ll be fine. I feel fine.”

They’re standing on the sidewalk outside the Café Musain, the first hint of a spring breeze in the air. Les Amis’ meeting has just finished, and Enjolras can’t wait to bring Grantaire inside to finally meet everyone. He was worried that Grantaire might not want to be around such a big crowd, but his boyfriend’s reassurances say that it will be okay. Enjolras takes Grantaire’s hand and leads him inside.

“Everyone,” he says, commanding the room’s attention again. “This is Grantaire. My boyfriend.”

Courfeyrac puts his fingers to his mouth and wolf-whistles at the back of the room, while Bossuet gives them a small round of applause. Those who already know Grantaire give waves of acknowledgement, and those who don’t call out greetings.

And it’s as easy as that, for their two separate lives to collapse together into one. Everyone falls back into their conversations, and Enjolras and Grantaire choose an empty little table to sit at. After a few minutes, Bahorel comes to join them.

“It is _so_ weird,” he says, “to see you two together as a couple. I should have set you up months ago.”

“Ah, months ago wouldn’t have been good for me,” Grantaire replies. “We met at the perfect time.”

“All thanks to your stupid no-cell-phone rule,” Enjolras adds. “Has enough time passed since your party that I’m allowed to tell you it was stupid now?”

“Definitely not,” Bahorel answers. “In fact, seeing how successful it was at matching you two up, I’m going to be doing it at every party I have from now on in the hopes that something like this happens again.”

“Great,” Enjolras says sarcastically.

“It really is great, though,” Bahorel continues. “Remember when you called me from Grantaire’s phone that next day, and I kept laughing? It was because I thought you two had hooked up. And before you corrected me, I was thinking that you two could actually be great together. And now you are. I’m really happy for you both.”

“God, Bahorel, get a grip,” Grantaire says, but with a kind smile. Bahorel just laughs, clapping them both on the back.

The evening passes quickly, time always rushing past faster when you’re enjoying yourself. Enjolras keeps checking in with Grantaire to make sure that he’s doing okay, but Grantaire seems to be having fun, without a hint of nervousness or discomfort now that he’s surrounding by all of his friends. It seems to be only minutes later that Grantaire and Enjolras are back in Enjolras’s bedroom, getting ready for bed together.

“There’s something I want to tell you,” Enjolras says, picking up a brown manila envelope from the desk to show Grantaire, who’s sitting on the bed. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier because I haven’t told anyone else yet.”

“What is it?”

“I got into law school,” Enjolras says with a smile, pulling out the acceptance documents to hand to Grantaire.

“What!?” Grantaire yells, jumping up to give Enjolras a hug. “That’s great! Although… I didn’t even know you applied.”

“It was months ago, and I didn’t tell anyone,” Enjolras says. “I didn’t want to look stupid if I didn’t get in.”

Grantaire shakes his head incredulously. “How on earth would you not get in? You’ve never gotten a grade lower than an A in anything, even the class you got kicked out of.” He laughs quietly, shifting through the documents. He pulls one out of the pile. “Financial aid application?”

“Yeah, about that…” Enjolras says. “I decided that I’m not going to take my parents’ money anymore. Once this semester’s over, I’m cutting myself off.”

“But what are you going to do for money?”

“Get a job. And a scholarship, hopefully. I’ll study part-time, too, if I have to,” Enjolras answers, clearly having already spent a lot of time thinking about this.

Grantaire pulls him down onto his lap. “I think that’s really brave of you. And I know you’ll be the best lawyer ever. You’re truly a terrifying person to argue with.”

Enjolras just laughs at that.

“I’m going to go put my glasses on, okay?”

“You know that’s always okay with me,” Grantaire answers with a wink.

Enjolras leaves the room, grabbing his cell phone from his desk as he goes. When he gets to the bathroom, he quickly takes his contacts out, and then hops up onto the sink, pulling out his phone.

E: _Remember when this was the only way we got to talk?_

R: _Are you really texting me from fifteen feet away?_

R: _Yes, I remember. I would never trade what we have now to go back to that, but I loved every minute of it._

E: _Me too._

R: _I love you._

But Enjolras is already back, opening the door the bedroom, when that final text comes through. He tackles Grantaire down on the bed, whispering “I love you, too” in his ear before moving in to kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's a wrap! I'm really going to miss writing this!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left such nice comments on this. I appreciated every single one. And special thanks to Carol, because I never thought I would make such a nice friend in the comments section of AO3 :)


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